


Remembrance

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Background Relationships, Dom/sub Undertones, Dream Sex, F/M, Memory Loss, Past Character Death, Reunions, Vaginal Sex, one-sided petra/oluo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:31:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1962126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At night, Petra dreams of humanoid beasts, wings at her back and a lover with no name.</p><p>During the day, she goes to school in her best friend's second-hand car, worries about getting into college and doodles designs for her first tattoo in her notebooks.</p><p>She isn't sure which life is real anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While this fic has been abandoned, I'm leaving it up for archive purposes.
> 
> All the sex in this fic is in alternate-universe flashbacks, so even though the reincarnations are underage, I'm taking off the underage tag.

He lets her run her fingers through the short hairs at the back of his neck.

But only for a moment. He grabs her wrists, and his fingers have calluses in unfamiliar so-very-familiar places. He shackles her to the bed frame roughly but methodically, like something he could do in his sleep.

He grabs her by the thighs and the fingers that dig deep into her flesh hit bruises. She feels rather than hears herself moan, and the shackles hurt when she pulls on them. The man shoves his cock inside of her in one rough thrust. It feels _amazing_ , better than anything, and she arches up into him. He puts a hand on her chest and slams her back down onto the mattress, growling. She breathes out a harsh sound as the pang of pleasure cuts through her like a knife.

She tries to wrap her legs around his waist, instinctually, and he bites down _hard_ on her collarbone, dangerously close to breaking the skin. She sobs and writhes against him, and she can hear her voice over the noise of skin on skin.

“ _Yes—!!_ ”

He has her by the thighs again, and he won’t let her leave her legs around him, digging his fingers into the bruises and keeping her spread wide.

The shift in position pushes the base of his dick into her clit and—

Petra wakes up.

*

Petra is eating Frosted Flakes and dwelling on the recurring sex dream when the doorbell rings. She glances back and forth between her not-yet-soggy cereal and the door, before sighing and going to get it.

“Hey Marco, you’re early.”

Marco Kingston, recently nominated for both best smile and most likely to try to be a hall monitor in college for their senior superlatives, is Petra’s best friend. He’s also her ex-boyfriend, but that had been an absolute disaster, so it’s on their list of ‘things not to talk about’, along with their frog dissection from last year and anything involving cafeteria hot dogs (they bounce). Marco came out of the closet a few months later.

“My car started in record time,” Marco tells her, cheerfully. She ushers him into the house, not even bothering to remind him to wipe his feet. He’s usually the one to remind _her_.

“Wow, A+, Princess Chariot. Want anything to eat?” Petra asks, hurrying back to her cereal before it can get to the inedible stage.

“I still can’t believe I let you name my car. And nah, I had waffles at home,” Marco replies, affectionately exasperated.

“She’s more agreeable if you treat her like a _lady_ , Marco, come on. It’s my birthday, don’t make fun of my naming skills. And those better have been toaster waffles, I’ll never forgive you if your mom made belgian waffles and you didn’t bring me one,” Petra says.

Marco raises an eyebrow. He knows better than to rub his mom’s cooking in her face, and that eyebrow clearly says ‘I’m offended you’d think I’d be that stupid.’

Petra finishes her cereal quickly and puts the bowl into the dishwasher. Marco follows her up to her room to watch her triple check that she’s got everything in her purse.

“You’re sure you want this design, right?” He asks, a familiar sort of nagging nervousness in his voice. Petra frowns at him.

“I’ve been sure for like, two _years_. This is what I want. I won’t regret it,” Petra says firmly, not looking at him. She’s looking at the careful, perfect drawing she’s holding in her hands. It’s two overlapped wings, the one in the back blue, the one in front white with black outlines. She doesn’t know what it means, not really. But it makes something in her chest unravel just to look at it, like she’s been worrying about something and it’s finally settled. She’s more sure of this tattoo than she’s been of anything in her whole life.

In her dreams, everyone she trusts has wings just like this on their back.

Marco sighs. Petra kinda wants to hit him, but they’ve had this argument too many times already, and he’s agreed to go with her to get the tattoo, so she feels like she’s won.

*

Princess Chariot makes some worrying noises while Marco is parallel parking, but they make it to the tattoo parlor. Marco looks so deeply out of place here, in his button-up shirts and junior politician haircut. Petra does too, really, but at least she’s wearing a band t-shirt instead of something like she’s going to debate club.

Marco keeps shooting her nervous looks, but Petra doesn’t feel nervous. Something is buzzing under her skin, excitement and determination and something she usually only feels after she wakes up from dreams where nobody has faces but she knows them anyways.

She hands the tattoo artist her design, and he makes a face that she can’t decipher before squinting suspiciously at her.

“You in a gang, miss…” He looks at her ID, which is resting on the counter next to him, “Petra Redwood?”

Petra stares at him for a long, awkward moment. What kind of question is _that_?

“No? What?” She winces internally when she says ‘no’ like a question.

“You’re the third person in here today to get this thing on their back. Thought it was weird the first two guys weren’t together, but this is gettin’ weird. Last guy only just left,” the tattoo guy says, but he just shrugs after that. “Whatever.”

Petra’s mind is racing as she changes into her apron. It’s a dumb flowery thing, just something to tie around her breasts while getting the tattoo done and on the way home. She _dreams_ about this design, but she’s never been able to find it anywhere. What if this is some kind of cult conditioning or something?

She shakes off the doubts. Nothing she feels this kind of certainty about could be bad.

*

The tattoo takes hours. Petra was prepared for that, but she’s still really glad she brought Marco. He holds her hand the whole time, even in the beginning when she was probably grinding the joints in his fingers something awful with all that squeezing. She’ll apologize later.

At least the pain keeps her from dwelling on the fact that other people have been getting the same design. That’s something she’s weirdly stuck on, more than she’d expected. She wasn’t getting this tattoo for the uniqueness, after all. It represents something more… united than that, in her head.

She gets the whole tattoo done in one sitting, and she’s hungry and sore by the time it’s done. Marco is promising her ice cream while the tattoo artist covers the tattoo in gauze, and Petra smiles weakly at him. They head towards the front desk with Marco holding Petra’s shirt and the artist reminding her of care guidelines.

It happens then.

There’s somebody sitting on the beat-up couch at the front of the tattoo parlor. It’s a boy around her age, with dirty blonde hair and a face that looks too old for him. Petra has a moment where the whole world seems hazy and suspended, where she thinks that the look on his face is so _obnoxious_ and then they make eye contact and—

There’s a man on the stage, just as faceless as the recruits all around her. Petra is joining his branch of the military, and her legs are shaking. She knows how many people die doing what she’s going to be doing. The wings are everywhere and Oluo is standing one to her left and two rows forward. She didn’t expect him to be here, but whatever, it isn’t like they’re friends—

Petra can’t believe he picked her, he really picked _her_ , she’s going to be doing something real for humanity’s strongest, whose face isn’t here but the fierce admiration and the _loyalty_ is as strong and real as her heartbeat. She’s seen the two older men on expeditions before, but she doesn’t know their names, so there’s no weird absence where that knowledge should be, where their _faces_ should be. She knows them but she doesn’t know them. She knows she can trust them to have her back, and she introduces herself with a trembling enthusiasm. Oluo she already knows, she rolls her eyes at him and pretends not to notice the way he looks at her like she’s something special—

She sneaks out of her squad leader’s room, body humming with afterglow, and she runs into Oluo on the way back. He mocks her for her hickey, not covered by her pajamas the way it will be by her uniform, and she punches his arm, scowling. Just because he’s jealous doesn’t mean he has to be a dick—

The kid might be their last chance, and the man she loves has been trusted with him. Petra is going to give him a chance. He looks at her the way a child looks at their mother, even though she’s probably only 5 years older than him. She’d want to take care of him even if he didn’t need it, if _humanity_ didn’t need it. They all bite their hands for him, her and Oluo and the commanding officer she’d give her life for because he deserves it and she _loves_ him and the friends whose faces she can remember no more than she can remember her lover’s name—

Two people are dead. She and Oluo are what’s left of the guard. She is paralyzed by the blood, by the death of a friend, and she’s frantic to protect the kid but then there is a split second of pain—

Petra remembers Oluo and she can see in his eyes that he remembers her too. Her whole life, high school and 18th birthdays and Marco and her family, for a moment, it all fades into the background and she grabs someone who should be a stranger by the shoulders.

“Oluo, where is he, _what happened to the kid_?!” Her voice is frantic and her eyes must be wild, but Oluo doesn’t react like she’s crazy. There’s a pained look on his face.

“I don’t— I don’t _know_ , you died, and then I—“ He stammers out, and Petra wails softly, digging her nails into his shoulders.

“Petra!” Marco’s voice breaks the moment, and suddenly she isn’t Petra Ral, who can’t remember her friends’ names but does remember their deaths. She’s Petra Redwood, a senior in high school at a tattoo parlor with her best friend, shouting at a stranger.

She lets go of Oluo and flees the tattoo parlor. She can hear both boys shouting after her, the confused noises of the other people in the shop, but she just _runs_.

The pavement under her feet is the only thing that she’s sure is real.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's quite a bit of blood and vomit referenced in this chapter. Just a warning.

Searing pain and _blood_ , so much blood. It's _his_ blood, coming hot and fast from what's left of his leg. His head feels light, almost hollow and he can taste bile in his throat. None of his thoughts connect and it shouldn't be this hard to breathe.

But then the giant bearded creature has someone else sliding down towards it's throat. Fierce, protective rage bubbles up through the haze of blood loss and pain; he lurches forward, ignoring the drag of ripped flesh.

Bad breath and thick slime and the sickening sensation of falling come just before a snap of pain--

Eren opens his eyes.

There's a foot on his ribs, nudging him roughly.

“Hey. Wake the fuck up. You were making that stupid whining noise again.”

Eren groans at the sound of his brother's voice and pushes his palms into his eyes.

“Ugh, _Levi_ ,” Eren complains, rolling over away from the insistent push of Levi's foot. Levi grunts back at him, but the foot does separate from Eren's side. Victory?

“What fucked up dream were you having this time?” Levi asks, sounding bored. Eren sighs. There's no way Levi is going to let him go back to sleep, and he's not really sure he'd be able to sleep anyways.

“Murder Santa,” Eren mumbles, sitting up under his blankets. Levi snorts.

“Not the one where I'm beating the shit out of you in front of Judge Judy?” Ah, the early morning monotone mockery, a Levi Brandt tradition.

“Shut _up_ , it isn't Judge Judy,” Eren snaps back, finally looking over at his brother. Levi is already dressed for the day, a white collared shirt on a _Saturday_ , because Levi solemnly refuses to act like a normal 16 year old. He's also eating greek yogurt, which is gross.

Eren thinks it's painfully obvious that they're not _identical_ twins.

“Yeah, because that makes you repeatedly dreaming about your brother knocking your teeth out in front of a court less weird,” Levi's sarcasm sounds roughly the same as his regular tone, but Eren is more than used to it.

“You're an asshole,” Eren grumbles, but Levi doesn't even acknowledge him.

“As interested as I am in talking about your Santa Claus vore fantasies, you need to get your ass out of bed. Kelly's been puking all morning and Mom's at work,” Levi manages to sound disinterested and nauseated at the same time. It's truly impressive.

_That_ gets Eren out of bed. Kelly, their mother's longtime girlfriend, has already been accepted as Mom #2 by Eren, if not by Levi.

“So she does have the flu, then. And how are you so obsessed with shit jokes and still grossed out by throwup?” Eren asks, crawling out from under the blankets. He nearly hits his head on the top bunk of the bunkbeds Levi has been harassing Mom for _years_ to have separated, but ducks just in time, a practiced motion.

“Fuck you, vomit is _disgusting_ ,” Levi says, narrowing his eyes in a way Eren knows means 'I might hit you momentarily'.

“Whatever, did you at least get her some dry toast and ginger ale?”

Levi scowls at him.

“I'm nauseous, not helpless, brat. It's your fucking turn to deal with it,” He says, pointing to Eren with the spoon he'd been using to eat his yogurt.

Eren sighs and heads out to check on poor Kelly. He doesn't change out of his worn-in t-shirt or batman pajama pants, because he's not Levi, thank you very much.

***

Marco and Oluo find Petra in a corner booth at the McDonald’s two streets over from the tattoo parlor.  
   
She sees them before they see her, doesn’t call out to them but doesn’t try to hide either.  
   
She’s breathing normally again by the time they spot her, although she thinks her eyes are probably pink from crying.  Admittedly, she does look better than Oluo, who has a swelling bruise on his jaw that wasn’t there half an hour ago.  Judging from the way Marco is gingerly cradling his hand to his chest, she thinks she knows where Oluo got _that_.  
   
“Petra!” Marco’s voice is thick with relief, and he almost trips over himself trying to get to her for a hug. Petra willingly accepts the gesture, tucking her face into his shoulder.  She stays there for a long moment before Oluo coughs uncomfortably.  
   
“Is this guy your boyfriend, Petra?” Oluo asks, frowning and shifting awkwardly where he stands at the edge of Petra’s booth.  Marco makes a sound of disbelieving protest.  
   
“ _That’s_ what you’re worried about?  Are you serious?” Marco leaves a protective arm around Petra’s shoulders but _glares_ at Oluo, who flinches a bit.  Petra wipes at her eyes one more time and shrugs Marco’s arm off.  
   
“Marco’s my best friend.  And he’s _right_ , that’s such a stupid question.  You’re just as stupid as you’ve always…  been…” Petra trails off, before hiding her face in her hands.  
   
“Petra… Do you know this guy?” Marco asks.  
   
“No!  Well.  Yes? I don’t _know_ ,” Petra groans.  Marco makes a confused little noise before Oluo speaks up.  
   
“We’ve never met, but I dream about her,” He says, and Petra watches as Marco’s hands close into fists.  
   
“Are you stalking her?  Because I _will_ call the police, you creep,” He growls, and Petra sighs heavily, nudging Marco with her shoulder.  
   
“He means it literally.  I… You remember those weird nightmares I kept having?  Where those giants were eating people?“ Petra says, quietly and without looking at Marco.  “He was one of the people fighting them with me.”

Oluo breathes out a sigh of relief even as Marco's eyes go comically wide.

“You said they were probably horror movie monsters!” Marco protests, and Oluo rolls his eyes.

“What horror movie do _you_ know that has giant naked babies eating people?” Oluo asks, scowling. Marco gives him a look of absolute disgust.

“Giant _babies_ \--” Marco starts, but Petra starts laughing, in a hollow, hysterical way. The two boys shut up immediately, turning to look at her. Petra drops her head into her hands.

“This is _crazy_! I'm missing people I've never _met_ and I'm here but I'm _dead_ and you're fighting over nothing so _shut up_! We have bigger problems than what you call those-- those _things_!”

The people around them are staring, but Petra doesn't care. The nightmares and dreams Oluo has been in all have the same hyper-realistic feeling to them, that had always been what made the faceless, namelessness of the people in them so creepy. Having one identity filled in makes her wonder if all the others are out there too.

Petra takes a deep breath and pulls her hands away from her face.

“The tattoo artist said two other people got my tattoo today. Oluo, what were you there to get?” She asks, determination keeping her voice level. Oluo blinks at her for a moment before he answers.

“It's this design I came up with, it's overlapping wings--”

Petra doesn't let him finish.

“Okay, same as everyone else, good,” She comments, ignoring the way Oluo frowns. “You know where I'm going with this, right?”

Marco nods and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“We need to get their client records.”

“Bingo.”

***

Eren knocks on the door to the bedroom he shares with Levi. He knows better than to just walk in; Levi values his privacy, so the shared bedroom often turns into 'Levi's bedroom that Eren also sleeps in'.

It takes a moment, but Levi does open the door. The room smells like Levi's usual blend of tea leaves, and Levi's laptop is open on the top bunk. The screen is open to some kind of menswear website, probably the kind of thing that Levi has no hope of ever being able to afford. This also happens to be the sort of thing that Levi is regularly obsessed with, unfortunately.

“What,” Levi says, not phrasing it like a question in the slightest.

“We're out of soup and gatorade,” Eren says, and Levi frowns at him.

“And?”

“And I need you to drive me to the store,” Eren answers, and he thinks he sees the corner of Levi's mouth quirk up a bit, just for a second. The driving thing is a bit of a _thing_ in their family, as Levi had gotten his license pretty much immediately upon being legal to take the test, while Eren has failed twice in a row due to a lovely mix of nerves and road rage.

Eren is a little worried he'll never get it right, and Levi's constant mockery doesn't help.

“Fine. But for fuck's sake, put on some real pants,” Levi says, opening the door the rest of the way so Eren can get into the room.

*

After a short car ride in which Levi refused to let Eren put on the radio and instead quizzed him on road signs, they get to the grocery store. Levi even insists on controlling the _grocery cart_ , which might have been funny if it wasn't so annoying.

They're in the juice aisle and Eren is examining different flavors of gatorade. He looks up from the two different colors of blue to ask Levi a question, and finds his brother has just... stopped.

In fact, Levi looks almost _drugged_. His pupils are wildly dilated, his face has gone pale and colorless, and he's let go of the shopping cart entirely. Eren stares at him, bewildered.

“Levi, what the hell? Did you catch Kelly's thing, because if you're going to puke--”

“ _Gunther,_ ” Levi hisses, and then he's off down the aisle, a determination to him that Eren rarely sees.

“What? Levi? _What_ , dude?”

Eren tosses both kinds of gatorade into the cart and follows his brother, looking where he's looking. There's a guy down by the soda, who is staring at his brother with the _strangest_ expression on his face. Does Levi know this guy?

And then Eren makes eye contact.

In his dreams, he's seen this man die, and die for _him_.

Eren throws up.


End file.
